Ben and I saw Iron Man last night (which, rocked, hard. I'm not even a comic book person. Well, I did have a Batman phase, but I digress). Maybe it was because I hadn't been laid in two weeks or the fact that I dig Robert Downey Jr., but something was getting to me. I crossed my legs in his direction, letting the hem of my skirt slip up my thigh. Every once in a while he would give my knee a gentle pat, but it was clear for the next 126 minutes his primary object of desire was Tony Stark's metal suit. Then at some point it became mine. I started wondering what it would be like to fuck someone in a form fitting gold-titanium alloy suit. It would be cold and smooth at first, but then would warm up with the heat of our bodies. It would be unforgiving, but slick and there would be that shock of contrast when you finally touch, pliant, soft, moist skin... "Why aren't his fingers in my pussy right now?" I wondered.
Later, I remembered those amazing Balenciaga metal leggings. Throw an Njoy in there and now we're getting somewhere:
